Plunged into the depths of a mouth

Les anges perdus ont leur destin scellé.

It's as if death were a half-open door, a border between what we know and what is unknown to us. And this uncertainty, this feeling of being on the edge of something so vast and incomprehensible, consumes us. We wonder what we will leave behind, whether we will be remembered, whether our existence will leave any lasting trace in this ephemeral world.

Will this search ever end?

Trapped inside ideas, trapped inside yourself